


The Sneeze

by wheres-mickey (peijou)



Series: The Shameful Tales of Broken English [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Babysitting, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:28:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3307220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peijou/pseuds/wheres-mickey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Svetlana leaves Mickey alone with Yev for a few hours, which gives him more than enough time to reflect on his own childhood, freak out about Yevgeny doing usual baby stuff, and call on Ian for help. Exhausted is not how he handles emotions best – if he ever does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sneeze

Mickey and Svetlana were having a loud argument, Milkovich style: lots of noise; little compromise.

Getting gradually exasperated by the pointlessness of the fight, Svetlana headed for the door. Mickey, who had been following her in the house during the whole argument while shouting to cover her own screams, got her right in the face when she suddenly turned back to stare down at him – the damn heels – with narrowed eyes. She hissed out a sharp Russian phrase, which he assumed was an insult, and huffed a curt “ _You go figure how fucking hard it is when you deal with it alone_ ” while poking his thorax. And, with a last disgusted look, she stormed out.

Mickey stood dumbly on the porch, his open hands frozen mid-air and his disbelieving eyebrows raised high on his forehead. He tried to collect what the fuck just happened. She was telling him what to do, he was saying he wouldn’t do it.

So, just the usual. No need to go make such a scene about it.

He soon realized that he had no idea of what he should be doing with the whole situation. So, at length, he shrugged, got sheepishly back inside and collapsed on the couch. He reached for the jacket he had tossed just nearby earlier to grab the phone that was in his pocket. All he could do for a while was stare blankly at the black screen.

He knew what was coming, and he knew he needed to stop solving his problems by calling the idiot.

_Stop._

He pinched the bridge of his nose, huffed a swear and started dialing Ian’s number anyway. He answered after only two rings.

"Hey Mick, what’s up?" He sounded all pant-y and happy and shit. Like a goddamn dog.

"Yo Firecrotch, could you drag your ass over here?"

The happy tone vanished right away, for a worried voice to take over. "Shit Mickey, what have you done? Where are y–"

"Jesus, nothing, I’m fine, I’m fine!" Mickey cut off eagerly, embarrassed by the slight anxiety in Ian’s voice. "I’m home. It’s just, y’know, Sveltana."

Well, that was a shitty explanation. Ian seemed to be happy with it, though. He probably guessed there was some domestic argument going on between the two, the kind of thing that would always annoy Mickey without being utterly bad. It’s almost like Mickey could hear his smile through the phone, and felt himself relax a little.

"Alright, just let me finish helping Fiona before I head to your place."

Mickey hang up, contemplating the ceiling with a frown. Why would Ian instantly assume he had done something wrong, _Jesus_.

He could hear some noises from the bedroom. After rubbing his tired eyes with the heels of his thumbs, he hauled himself out of the couch and made his way to the bedroom, where he found Yevgeny crying uncontrollably. The poor little man had probably been crying since Mickey and Svetlana had started to fight.

His small body was softly lifted by Mickey (“ _c’mere, little man_ ”), taking him out of his crib. He led them both to the living-room, keeping a firm hold of the baby as if he was afraid he might turn into water and pour himself on the floor.

Nevertheless, Yev seemed to enjoy the steady grip, and his small hands started tugging at Mickey’s shirt as he calmed down.

"Alright buddy," Mickey said, as he got them both settled on the couch again, "we’re gonna watch something and wait for Ian, ‘k?".

Although it was Yev’s back that was facing the television, Mickey still felt guilty at the idea of watching any kind of rated shows, so he ended up on the cartoon channel. Not that he was complaining, to be quite honest. It kind of reminded him the few times he, Mandy and his brothers got together and watched cartoons, back when he was under ten and things were doing alright. They would watch stupid Ninja Turtles and Power Rangers and shit together for hours, up until Terry inevitably came back home, drunk, and ready to beat the shit out of them if they stood anywhere within five meters. So they would turn off the TV, discreetly go back to their rooms, and wait for the storm to calm down.

Right when he was starting to get a bit bored watching the same stupid cat getting hit by the same stupid dog with the same stupid hammer over and over, he heard a knock on the door. For a short, overwhelming moment, Mickey felt the panic filling his brain and running through his veins at the idea that it was Terry coming home, like he used to do years ago.

He pulled himself together with a sigh (who was he kidding, Terry didn't knock, he barged in), lifted the now quiet baby and backed him up against a pillow. He eyed him warily in a  _don't you dare move_ expression and went to the door.

"What the fuck took you so long?" Mickey asked Ian dryly when he opened the door. Ian gave him a look, waiting for him to step aside so that he could enter the Milkovich house. "Hello to you too. I brought beer." he said. He lifted his left arm for Mickey to catch a glimpse of the heavy bag he was carrying; which, once inside, he dropped unceremoniously on the counter. "So, you alone? what’s the emergency?"

Mickey, who was still standing by the front door, felt a heat climbing up his neck. He bit his thumb while gesturing awkwardly towards the bedroom, his eyes flickering from Ian to the couch to the floor and back again. “Svetlana left me alone with Yevgeny. Again.”

Ian opened his mouth then closed it, nonplussed. He frowned. He tilted his head softly to his right as a worried expression took over his face. “Oh, so _that_ was the mysterious thing you couldn’t talk about over the phone.” He nodded in feigned understanding. “Mick, I can respect that you don’t want to get the government involved.”

"Shut up, alright?" Mickey said, his nerves getting him all worked up. Then, he added, thoughtful, "Plus, it actually wouldn’t be a fucking brilliant idea to get the government involved in any of our business." Ian laughed again, arms crossed. "Can’t argue," he said with raised eyebrows.

He headed for the bedroom to get Troublemaker Yevgeny. Mickey looked at him go. In spite of himself, he was relieved that Ian was there, because he knew that even if the asshole was making fun of him, he’d still be willing to help him out with Yev; no questions asked.

It just all happened so quickly, and Mickey didn’t have time to adjust. He went straight from 'lonely-angry kid' to 'adult with fatherly-like responsibilities'. He simply had no idea how to deal with it.

Besides, as much as he hated to rely on others, he couldn’t help but trust Ian, since the dickhead had never made him feel like he was a burden. Mickey was so damn grateful, even though he would never admit it out loud – but he was pretty sure Ian got the hint anyway. He winced a little at that.

Ian came back from the bedroom in a rush. His face was as pale as a freshly washed white sheet and his desperately empty arms were hanging on each side of his body as no one was to be found in said bedroom. Mickey huffed out a laugh at the utterly tensed face. "Chill. He’s on the couch," Mickey smiled. "He’s been crying and sobbing all day long," it was a lie, at least sort of, but whatever.

Mickey came around the couch to take Yevgeny back in his arms.

"Hey, stop being so rude to him. I’d cry too if I had a shitty parent like you."

Mickey gaped and, a little offended, turned to Ian to snap something back. But then, he saw the bastard's wide grin.  _Alright_ , Mickey thought, the goddamn idiot was just messing with him – which had almost worked. He stared down at Yevgeny, pondering over the implication. He frowned.

” _Terry_ was a shitty parent. A shitty, violent and abusive one. I don’t think I qualify.”

"Yeah, well, don’t act like you could grow like him, then."

With that, Ian had seemingly dropped the argument. He was lying on the couch, playing with Yev’s cheeks, too busy applying himself to make him giggle to argue on the ‘violent’ statement. Not that Mickey could have said something. He had just punched a guy in the face earlier that day _and_ bawled out his wife.

After a while, during which Yev’s babbles were the only things to be heard, and without looking up to meet Mickey’s eye, Ian added as a second thought, a bit defensively: “Also, don’t think I don’t know what shitty parenting is. I mean, I still got Frank, even if he wasn’t my biological father and all.” He waved dismissively at that.

Mickey had known about this for a while, though he wasn’t sure where he had heard it in the first place – Mandy, maybe? – but anyway, in the Southside, it was just a matter of time before every dirty secret was eventually known by all living souls. Ian never brought it up, and Mickey never felt like he had to be the asshole asking about it, so even though it made him reflect, in an abstract way, he had decided to leave the guy some space.

"Which is a shame by the way," Ian stubbornly carried on, "because the other dad seemed to be a lot nicer. And richer."

Mickey opened two wide eyes, a surprised smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “What do you mean, seemed? You did go see the biological one?” he asked curiously. That, he had not known about.

"Yep. It’s more like Lip dragged me to see him, though." He shrugged and stood up to make his way towards the kitchen. He opened the fridge's door, picked up the bottle of orange juice while he kept gesturing and talking. "Dickhead wished he was the fucker’s son instead of Frank’s. Who are actually brothers, by the way." He laughed at the memory. "The wife figured it all out pretty easily, and I swear to God she looked like she was going to go full Mad Max on us."

Mickey found himself a bit impressed as Ian detailed how him and Lip had found out the position of said biological father and planned a fake school project to sneak into his house. Managing to see that man without busting his skull must have needed a hell of a self-control, Mickey thought, and he could respect that, as he knew he would certainly not have had any of that self-control.

He shifted Yev on his other hip. Once he was sure the baby was secured, he glanced over towards the now silently-sitting Ian, who was busy staring at some imaginary point located near the kitchen window, hands flat on the wood of the counter.

"Anyway, you can’t compete with me. I win. I have the shittiest of all. And by that, I mean both of yours. Any of the two. Even if you _summed_ them, I’d still win."

At first, it didn’t seem to draw Ian out of his thoughts; until he let out an amused snort, though his expression slowly turned into a frown – probably at bad memories involving Terry, that Mickey did not want to think about either. But then, he thought, _was_ there a memory involving Terry that wasn't bad?

At length, Ian sighed. "Yeah, you win," he admitted flatly.

"Damn right I do," Mickey said wryly, eyebrows high on his forehead. "Can’t believe you even had to th–"

He was interrupted by a sneeze. Yev’s. The baby blinked.

His whole little body had been shaken by a sneeze, and he looked so alarmed, like he didn’t know just _how_ his could have happened.

He sneezed once again, a tiny sneeze, and seemed to be on the verge of crying.

"Oh, oh, _oh_ , big guy! I don’t need to get your germs all over me!" Mickey said, growing gradually alarmed too as he saw Yev’s face getting redder, clearly not knowing how (or wanting) to deal with a crying-sneezing Russian baby. He carried Yev to his outstretched arms.

Ian chuckled. He walked towards the chair he had tossed his coat when he first got in the house to get something. "Does he need a tissue?" Mickey heard him ask from there. "Jesus, a whole curtain is what he needs! He’s pouring a river of glanders all over me. _Christ_ , Yev!"

The rough voice startled Yev, who instantly started to cry before Ian could even head back, hands full with tissues. He dropped his smile and stood there for a second, looking with furrowed eyebrows at the pathetic scene of a wide-open-mouth shouting baby trying to roll himself defensively in Mickey’s arms. As for Mickey, he was completely clueless.

"For Christ's sake, _Mick_!" Ian scowled, and reached precociously for Yev.

He rocked him against his belly for a while, his angry-looking eyes still focused on a sheepish-looking Mickey. Mickey threw his hands in the air in a way that said ' _fuck this, I give up_ ', which earned him an even angrier look from Ian.

Sure, Svetlana had told him to help taking care of the baby, but it was so fucking  _exhausting_ to look after such a small and fragile thing all the time. And so ungrateful, too! Mickey had been doing a good, if not great (as far as his experience with babies was concerned) job until just a minute, but that, the baby didn’t care. Actually, the baby only cared when he messed up, and was willing to let everyone in the goddamn neighborhood know that he wasn’t happy about it. And now Ian was pissed at him, too.

Mickey run a frustrated hand through his hair and took a moment to swallow his pride.

He got a suspicious look from Ian when he opened his arms to let him know he wanted to take the baby back with him.

The effort was nevertheless rewarded once Yev had settled, his head resting on Mickey’s shoulder, by Ian’s softening expression as he watched Mickey trying to rock him.

At this point, as Mickey thought it couldn’t get more awkward, he heard himself ask the baby in a low voice: “Hey, little bud, do you want a tissue now?”

Ian chuckled a little. “You don’t have to try so hard. Just stop being a bitch about this.” He waved at Yevgeny. He was still a bit sobbing but, overall, he had gotten much quieter.

Mickey frowned, and, eyes still focused on Ian, started plotting in Yev’s hear: “Who's this redhead? You know him? He’s weird. I think he wants something from us… But Milkoviches don’t do charity, do they, bud?” Ian stood back, with his stupid grin, and rolled his eyes. Mickey shifted Yev higher up on his side before carrying on, “Alright, I have to teach you life, don’t I? Okay, let this be your first lesson then. Do not let people hold you, or take you somewhere, or talk to you when you don’t know them. No matter what they offer you, or how good-looking they are. Never. Alright?”

Ian was about to say something about the unsubtle implication, but was cut off when Mickey made a face. “I think he just, huh, you know? released his nasal mucus thing?”

Ian turned around Mickey, still rocking Yev, and laughed. “Yep,” he said lightly, “here, let me”.

But as soon as he was going to reach for Yev, the baby burst into tears again. Ian was completely nonplussed, and it was Mickey’s turn to smile brightly.

"I  _am_ a fucking good teacher!” he beamed, but sensing a negative aura from a disgruntled Ian who had been retrieved from his previous rights on the baby, he added for the attention of Yev, “Okay, let’s make an exception for him, okay? At least for now.”

But the baby kept crying damn hard.

And after several vain attempts to soothe him, Mickey’s patience was running short.

"Come on, Yev?" Ian tried for the umpteenth time, waving a tissue around.

"Alright now, just let daddy wipe your snot," Mickey grumbled before he could realize what he had said.

But then, Ian stared at him, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. Even Yevgeny seemed to have suddenly calmed down.

And then, Mickey did realize what he had said; along with the implications that came with it.

He froze. It had slipped. It had fucking  _slipped_.

In retrospective, Mickey thought this might have been the dumbest thing he had ever said in his entire life – given the fact that he had said pretty dumb things. Eyes tightly closed, he was cringing and patiently waiting for Ian to laugh at his face, because, let’s be honest, it was only fair.

Without any warning, Ian grabbed Mickey's shoulder to swing him round so that they were face to face again. He pulled him close by moving his left hand on the side of Mickey's neck and tightly tugging at the back of his shirt with the other.

For a split second, he looked down intensively into the blue eyes, and roughly smashed his lips against Mickey's.

Mickey's body reacted before his mind could.

He threw the arm that was not holding Yev around Ian’s neck, thus getting a better hold of the redhead to walk them backwards until his back met the wall behind him and he was closely pressed against Ian. Ian effectively pinned him against the wall. He tightened his grip on the older man's neck to pull him even closer.

As the second kiss was dangerously deepening, Mickey pulled back, panting.

He stared at Ian, two centimeters away from the redhead’s face, mouth hanging open a little, his eyes flickering between the green eyes and the bruised lips of their breathless owner. Ian's gaze on him was definitively turning him on.

He made the quickest decision of his life to just give up to Ian’s manhandling, eagerly leaning in for another kiss as the taller man led the rhythm, adding a little of teasing to the kiss as he nipped at his lower lip.

Ian slid his left hand across Mickey's neck and cheek to reach his hair and twisted his long fingers in it. Mickey let out a low moan as Ian used his grip to pull his head back against the wall and sucked his bottom lip. He wanted to taste Ian so badly he just kept on kissing him over and over and–

A sneeze.

They broke apart, both panting soundly.

"Shit," Mickey said under his breath.

"Yeah," Ian answered dumbly, a little light-headed.

Mickey had trouble winding back. He glanced at Yev, still on his side. The baby was snoring quietly. Maybe he had sneezed while sleeping, or he had sneezed and fallen back to sleep right after that? Mickey’s face was an interesting mix of worry, incomprehension and shy happiness.

"You think I’m going to prison for this?"

Ian snorted and smiled before planting a new kiss on Mickey’s lips, chaste this time, who pretended to be annoyed. “I don’t think they passed a sentence on someone kissing their husband in front of their child yet, so I guess you’re safe.”

"Fuck you," Mickey grumbled, without any real heat, "I had no idea you'd be turned on by that."

"I wasn’t, _daddy_ ," Ian stressed the last word and laughed when Mickey flicked him with his free hand. He paused to watch Mickey.

Still holding Yev on his hip, he was busy looking at the snoring baby while heading for the bag Ian had dropped when he first came in. Ian walked past him and slapped his wrist. "Alright, beer is no longer appropriate for our domestic couple, so I’ll just make tea instead."

Mickey raised his eyebrows and looked at Ian through his lashes. Despite his attempt not to show the bizarre chemical reaction Ian’s smile always triggered in his insides, he ended up failing at maintaining a blank face and smiled sheepishly. “Whatever, loser.”


End file.
